


Soft as Thorns

by ClockStrikesMidnight



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: AU - Boys home, AU - Orphans, Aged up - 16, Angst, Blood, Bruises, Cutting, Dubious Consent, Eddie Kaspbrak Loves Richie Tozier, Eddie Kaspbrak's Shorts, First Time, Graphic Violence, Homophobic Language, Love Bites, M/M, Porn With Plot, Reddie, Richie Tozier Loves Eddie Kaspbrak, Richie Tozier POV, Semi-Public Sex, Underage Masturbation, Underage Sex, Unsafe Sex, blowjob, prison-esque, unsafe orphanage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-15
Updated: 2020-04-15
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:27:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23634586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClockStrikesMidnight/pseuds/ClockStrikesMidnight
Summary: The first thing he had noticed were his eyes.The next thing he noticed was his lips.The last thing he noticed—as if he could ever stop noticing the delicate, fragile features of this boy—were his legs.And those fucking shorts.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 5
Kudos: 68





	Soft as Thorns

**Author's Note:**

> Read the tags, y'all! If you don't like, don't read.

Looking back, there was nothing he could have done differently. It would always end up the way it had, for better or for worse, regardless of his own choices. The first time he saw him, it was like the world was throwing him a life line, which was something he had never been granted before. His frail being, so small and soft, all he had wanted to do was wrap his arms around him and shield him from the world, because he could tell he needed to be shielded. He was too pure, too soft. He was so soft.

The first thing he had noticed were his eyes.

Dark chocolate, deep, everlasting.

When he was close enough, he learned that shades of green lived there as well, and black. So much blackness. When he was close enough, he could study the way his pupils dilated, and the way moisture would gather along his lids, threatening to trickle down his soft cheeks. And he always wondered why, _why baby, why are you crying,_ but he would never tell, and the image of those tears as they formed and shed, would haunt him for what he guesses will be the rest of his life. When he was close enough, he could count the individual thick, dark lashes that crowned his eyes, how they framed them, how soft they were to the touch, how he would giggle when he brushed his fingers against them; despite the tears, he would giggle, he was scared, but he was happy, too.

The next thing he noticed was his lips.

Chapped, yet soft, and perfectly toned.

When he felt them, he shivered, his eyes falling closed and his body becoming jelly. When he felt them, he felt the rush of adrenaline coming from within himself, as well as radiating off the other boy, binding them in a cocoon of tension and want. When he felt them, he felt the warmth of his breath as it whistled between his lips, the smell of mint toothpaste fresh on his tongue.

The last thing he noticed—as if he could ever stop noticing the delicate, fragile features of this boy—were his legs.

And those _fucking_ shorts.

When he held them in his hands he could feel their smoothness, not yet blooming with short tendrils of hairs like his own. When he held them in his hands he could feel the goose bumps as they rippled down his thighs, how each trace of his fingers caused a new cropping to grow, everywhere he touched was like it was hyperactive, hyper sensitive, hyper aware. When he held them in his hands, the tremble they released at each touch was enough to drive anyone crazy. It was enough to make anyone wild.

But none of that matters now as he watches that boy, that beautiful, incredible, soft boy drift away, and he tells himself he doesn’t see the yearning, pleading, _begging_ in his eyes, because there’s no way he does.

But he does, he does see it, and as he vanishes from his view for what will be the last time, he wishes more than anything, that it could have last.

—

Sloppy Joes. Again. The plopping sound the meat inevitably made when it hit his plate always made him groan internally. The smell was nauseating, too much salt, and it burned his nostrils. But what could he do? _Not shit_ , as he was regularly told, because he was practically a slave of the industry, and a line worker didn’t dare to argue with what the owners chose to feed them if they wanted to eat another day.

Richie had grown up in the orphanage, and he was starting to suspect he’d die there too. There were a few others in there with him that he knew were destined to a similar fate, unfortunately this similarity did not bond the boys. Henry Bowers was one such individual, his greasy blonde hair always unkept and unruly, his teeth a sickening yellow that was accompanied by horrid breath. He was the first to notice something was off with Richie. His crony, Patrick Hockstetter—all thin limbs and devilish smiles—Richie suspected, had the same types of feelings he did, but there was no way in hell he was ever going to come to terms with that.

Richie was okay with what he was, he was comfortable enough with the idea of being gay that he didn’t feel the need to torment himself insistently over it. Of course, it was intense and confusing at first. When he’d be in the communal showers with the other boys and feel a fire start in his belly when he caught a glimpse of another boy, he had to rush to a bathroom stall to touch himself, silently and quickly, before anyone noticed he was gone too long. He’d wake up in the middle of the night, wet and sticky, after having a dream of sucking on someone else’s cock, and need to clean himself and change before anyone else woke up. The other boys would change clothes in the same room as him, because there wasn’t much they could do to avoid it, (four bunks to a room), and he would have to train his eyes to look, then look away, look, then look away, and try to mentally catalog the glimpses he saw for later.

All of this he had managed for about a year now. This tug of war of repression and relief, this battle to keep his own secrecy yet remain sane. He was pretty impressed with himself, honestly. He didn’t think anyone knew what he was hiding, surely he would have been spoken to about it if otherwise.

And he was doing a damn good job before Eddie came along.

When Eddie came along, Richie found it harder to keep his secret. It was more of an insistent buzzing in his ears, a tightness in his groin, it was more painful to ignore. Someone must have been spying on his thoughts because Eddie was the epitome of everything Richie ever dreamt of, sent to make his life a living nightmare.

Eddie was smart, he could tell, and careful, he had a grace about him that Richie had never imagined. It was like he floated everywhere he went instead of walking on two feet, and when he touched things it was almost timidly at first, his fingers always grazing, testing, before his hand would grab securely. Richie found himself staring more often than he should have allowed himself to. This is one such instance, as Richie takes a seat at one of the bench lunch tables, breathing out of his mouth to avoid smelling the meat, where he’s watching Eddie too freely. When the small boy reaches out to grab an apple from the tray of assorted fruits, he brings it to his nose and sniffs before recoiling and putting it back. Richie smirks—the fruit is never fresh. He’ll learn the way of the lunch room eventually. Inevitably, he gets in line for Sloppy Joes. His thin legs are mostly uncovered due to the absurdly short red shorts he’s always wearing, and Richie gulps when he thinks about how good it would feel to touch his legs.

Richie eats quickly, hardly tasting the food, thank god, and puts his tray away. He swears he can see out of the corner of his eye that Eddie is watching him, but it’s probably wishful thinking. In his distracted mind, he doesn’t notice who is really watching him.

As tradition goes, Richie makes his way to the showers while everyone else is still having lunch. Not only does he relish the privacy of getting to shower alone, but it’s the only time he can really take his time with himself. The showers are basically a long hallway with shower heads spaced every five feet, with drains adjacent. It’s often filled with steam due to the multiple heads going at once, but as Richie steps inside, it’s eerily still. The inlet room intended for changing is empty, and the baskets of dirty clothes are filled to the brim, but thankfully there is still one fresh towel on the shelf. He grabs it quickly and starts to undress, pulling down his faded black jeans that are too big for him and lifting off his Tom and Jerry t-shirt. He throws the articles into the laundry baskets, jeans in one, shirt in another, then takes off his underwear and throws them in their own basket, making sure he can still read his name where it’s sharpied into the waistline.

He makes his way to the farthest shower head at the end of the hall, his feet chilled as they step across the damp tiles. He takes off his thick glasses and places them next to the soap bottles, the world becoming blurred and disorienting. Turning on the shower, he takes a couple steps back to let the water heat before stepping into the stream and allowing the water to pulse over his head and down his back. The hot water practically instantly fogs the room, enveloping Richie in its grasp. He stands there for a few moments, liking the way the water heats his insides before Eddie is on his mind.

_He’s always wearing those shorts, it’s like he knows what they do to me._

His insides burn and he can feel the tension starting to grow in his crotch. He pushes his forehead into the cool tile of the wall and shivers at the contact. Bringing a warm hand down, he starts to tug on himself, coaxing the blood to flow faster than it already is and moaning quietly at the sensation. His dick is rock hard within moments, and he rubs his smooth head with the pad of his thumb, teasing himself with his motions. He always does this, he’s not sure what it is about it that he likes so much, but he enjoys being able to tease himself before really getting started.

Rubbing along his nipples he can feel their hardness, and pinches the left one tightly, releasing a hiss out of his mouth as the tight sting radiates through his chest and makes his dick jump. He grips himself harder, still teasing, not pumping as he’d like to, but almost forcing himself back, grounding himself.

In his minds eye he sees Eddie, and he imagines what it would be like to touch him this way, what kind of darling whimpers he could usher out of his throat, what kind of pleasure he could help him accomplish. He can feel his heart beating faster in his chest and imagines what it must feel like to place his fingers on Eddies neck and feel his own pulse beating. He wonders if they would be in sync. He starts to move his fist up and down, up and down, along his shaft and shakes at the contact, hardly able to pace himself. Removing his other hand from his nipple he brings it up to the base of his neck and scratches, deep, into his clavicle, his hips bucking forward into his own hand and a moan vocalizing itself from his throat.

He can barely contain himself when he starts pumping faster, treating himself a bit, his eyes feeling heavy as the hot water clouds his vision even more. His tongue traces his lips and he imagines kissing Eddie, sucking on his tongue, using his mouth on his own dick, how soft his lips would be, how big his eyes would look staring up at him from his waist. His breath is definitely speeding up now, and he’s touching himself with a newfound eagerness and all he wants is for Eddie to be here with him, he wants to make him feel good like this. He can feel his climax building in his gut and pushes himself into the shower wall, jumping first at the chill then easing into it as he grinds against the wet tiles, pushing himself so tightly to the wall he can feel his legs slipping from under him. He moans as his cock slides against the wall, getting warmer and wetter with each pass and his legs are shaking underneath him, threatening to collapse, but he can’t stop, it’s too good. He imagines he’s pushing against Eddie, sees his own stomach as the other boys, so soft. From where his mind is focused on his dick, it moves to the image of Eddie in bed below him, his eyes big and dark, his pupils wide with arousal and his mouth hanging open in choked gasps.

With a deep, guttural moan, Richie pushes himself away from the wall and drops to his knees at the drain, using his hand to push his orgasm through and shooting hot ropes of cum into the holes of the drain covering. He works himself through it, his eyes closed tight and his body curled in on itself, shaking despite the hot water. His limbs all fizz with pleasure and he worries he might collapse on himself because his bones don’t seem to be working. After the waves subside, he’s able to push himself back to a standing position, and lets the water run over his front, washing him clean.

He turns off the shower and reaches for his glasses, rubbing the lenses to clear the steam that has gathered there, and placing them on his head. When he turns to head towards his towel, he stops dead in his tracks as he sees Henry Bowers and Patrick Hockstetter standing in the dry inlet, watching him.

“I saw you watching that twink,” he says, his voice deep and quiet. Patrick giggles beside him. “You think you’re so sneaky, but you don’t realize your fuckin’ mouth is hanging open when you stare at him.”

Richie stands in stunned silence, too afraid to even cover himself as Bowers stalks forward, his shoes leaving dirty prints on the tiles with each step he takes. And he knows he should run, he knows he needs to get out of here or something terrible is going to happen, but his legs are frozen and he can’t seem to think straight. Patrick holds his position at the door, making it even more unlikely for Richie to escape.

“I wonder what the owners of this place would think if they knew they had a stinky little faggot in their house. I wonder what your roommates would think, knowing that you watch their dicks when they change clothes,” Bowers continues, as he walks through the shower hall and stops a few feet in front of Richie. “I wonder what that tiny kid would think if he knew you were in here rubbing your dick like an animal thinking about him.”

“He doesn’t need to know,” Richie stammers, his voice cracking and causing Bowers to chuckle.

“You’re right. He doesn’t _need_ to know anything. Doesn’t mean he’s not going to.” With that Bowers reaches into his jean pocket and grabs a small silver switchblade, pulling the trigger and releasing the shining, silver blade from its cage. Richies heart rate skyrockets and he feels true fear for the first time in his young life. Bowers is a lunatic, and what scares Richie the most is that he’s so chaotic, his movements are nearly impossible to predict. He breathes in deep and steadies himself for whatever happens next.

Henry walks forward slowly, looking at his blade and then Richie, blade, then Richie. An evil smile grows on his face as he stands directly in front of the smaller boy.

“Better shut your mouth,” he says and grabs Richies arm, hard, causing the other boy to jump, but subconsciously he knows not to scream. Bowers holds Richies wrist and pushes it against the shower wall, bringing his knife to his inner forearm and pushing in. When the blade breaks his skin, Richie is worried he might pass out. The pain is so intense, it’s like nothing he’s felt before, and his blood streams in vibrant cords down his arm and plops onto the tiles of the floor. Bowers continues to cut away, and Richie winces at each pass, but can’t bring himself to look and see what he’s carving into him.

After what seems like an eternity, Bowers releases Richies wrist and turns the shower head on, cleaning off his bloody hand and his knife in the current. Richie can feel tears stinging in his eyes, that raw pain of being about to cry in the front of his brain, but he holds onto the sensation tightly, not wanting to look weaker than he already does, standing here naked and bleeding. Once he’s satisfied with his cleaning, Bowers turns the shower off, turns back to Richie and stares him in the eyes.

“There, now next time you see him he’ll be able to see what a sick fuck you are,” he says and spits at the ground in front of Richies feet before turning and high-fiving Patrick before leaving the room. When he hears the door close behind them he breaks down, tears running down his face quicker than he can count. His legs are trembling and he bends over to steady himself, heaving in deep breaths to keep himself conscious. He doesn’t want to look at his arm, but a sickening curiosity is inside of him as to what Henry could have possibly scarred him with.

With a deep inhale he brings his arm in front of him and looks into the seeping gashes of red that litter his forearm like a poorly done tattoo.

_R+E_

Richie feels his head spin and drops down onto his ass because his legs literally can’t support him anymore. He can’t contain his sobs as they erupt out of his chest and he buries his face in his hands, hoping that this is all just a bad dream. For one of the only times in Richies life, he feels shame, and he feels dirty. It’s not that he’s ashamed of himself for feeling the way he does, but he feels…almost _cruel…_ for thinking of Eddie in that way, for using him for his own pleasure. But he can’t focus on that now, that nagging voice in his head, because he feels dizzy and it occurs to him that there’s a realistic chance he could pass out from blood loss.

Shakily, he manages to bring himself to his feet and clasps his hand onto the wounds, which sting like bees at the contact. He curses under his breath as he carefully waddles over to the inlet, grabbing his towel and wrapping it around his bleeding arm like a cast. With a grimace he remembers that was his only towel, and to avoid having to walk through the orphanage naked, he needs to put on his dirty clothes from the baskets. When he feels the towel is secure enough around his arm, he snakes his belongings from the laundry baskets and slides them on, wincing when he rubs against his arm the wrong way.

He eyes himself before stepping outside, the towel is wrapped tight enough that blood isn’t seeping through, so if anyone looks at him it might just look like he’s holding it in a ridiculous way. His hair is still soaking and it clings in front of his face and drips onto his t-shirt, but to be fair, this isn’t the worst he’s looked.

With a steadying inhale, he opens the door and walks quickly out of the shower room, practically beelining his way through the hallway and past the lunch room, hoping no one glances his way. He’s making his way up the staircase to his shared room, staring at the floor intensely, when another pair of feet stop him in his tracks. He slowly brings his eyes up, preparing for the worst, and gasps when he sees the boys face, so much closer than it ever has been before, so much softer.

“Shit, uh, are you okay?” He asks and Richie shivers because this is the first time he’s heard his voice outside of his own head and it’s about as high pitched as he expected, but more sing-song, more feminine. It’s beautiful and perfect.

“Um, oh, this? It’s nothing,” Richie stammers, lifting his arm nonchalantly despite the searing pain it causes.

But Eddie is smarter than that, he knows that despite really _knowing_ it, and those deep, dark eyes catch a drop of blood as it escapes between Richies elbow and the towel when he moves. The smaller boy has a moment of shock dance across his face, but recovers from it well, suddenly looking so much older.

“Want some help?” He offers, and it’s less of a question and more of a curtesy, and as he turns to head back up the stairs, Richie follows him without another word. Richie can hear his heart beating in his ears as he climbs the stairs behind Eddie. His hips sway back and forth with each step he takes and Richie watches as his knees bend and elongate, and licks his dry lips. He doesn’t really know why Eddie is offering to help him, he always assumed the smaller boy would be squeamish at the sight of blood and gore, but he seems to feel exactly the opposite, taking it in his stride. They make their way to the top floor and down a few hallways to Eddies shared room and Richie feels the butterflies emerge in his stomach.

“You can sit down on the bed, but don’t get blood on it,” Eddie gestures, kneeling before his bedside table and opening a drawer.

Richie chuckles a bit, all the times he’s thought of what Eddie must be like, he never pictured him precisely like this. He’s still soft, of course, and fragile looking, all sharp bones and thin skin, but there’s something about the way he speaks that convinces Richie that he’s braver than he initially expected.

Richie sits down on his bed, thankful that none of Eddies roommates happen to be in the room at the same time. He smirks to himself when it dawns on him that he’s literally sitting on _Eddie’s_ bed, the same Eddie he’s be pining over for so long now.

Eddie busies himself in his drawer, pulling out various tubes of creams and ointments that Richie doesn’t know how to pronounce, and some rolls of gauze. He looks like a mad scientist and Richie chuckles internally. Once he’s satisfied with his materials, he turns on Richie, who is once again held silent by the fact that he’s so close to Eddie, and has to distract himself from not gawking at him too much.

“Can you unwrap that?” Eddie asks, nodding at the towel. “Please tell me it’s at least clean.”

Richie chuckles aloud this time. “It is, last one they had.”

He undoes the towel job slowly, hopeful that Eddie won’t connect the dots of what is scrawled into his arm, and hopeful that he doesn’t think Richie did it to himself. The towel is bloodier the closer it gets to Richies arm and he’s kind of surprised he didn’t actually pass out because there is a lot of blood here. Once he has the whole thing off, Eddie gags.

“Jesus, fuck,” he says quietly, his head turned away but his eyes staring into the gashes like he’s hypnotized.

And Richie feels so exposed he wants to run away. Eddie is just _staring_ at his arm and breathing tightly through his nose, so much so that Richie can see the way it wrinkles around his nostrils, and he looks so _cute_ and Richie has to force himself not to reach out and graze his fingers along his lips.

“You should see the other guy,” Richie says because he’s way too lightheaded and way too in shock and way too embarrassed to come up with anything better and Eddie rolls his eyes. “Fix me up, doc?”

Eddie gets to work quickly, applying hand sanitizer to himself before squeezing a small amount of some cloudy, white substance into his palm and rubbing it onto Richies wounds. He hisses at the first touch and Eddie apologizes, but after his fingers are on him for a while he relaxes and relishes the contact. Eddie is so gentle and seems so knowledgable in what he’s doing that Richie can’t help but trust him to take care of him. After he’s pleased with his work, Eddie sanitizes his hands again before unwrapping the gauze and starting from Richies wrist, wrapping tightly upwards until it covers the angry stripes completely. He applies sanitizer again before nodding at Richie as if to say, ‘you’re free to go’.

But Richie doesn’t want to leave.

In fact, Richie wants to test his luck like the son of a bitch he is.

“Where’d you learn how to do that, Eds?” He asks, watching Eddie carefully to see if it wasn’t as much a ‘you can go if you want’, as a ‘please leave’. The smaller boy seems to contemplate this as well before he responds.

“Don’t call me that,” he says shortly and Richie can’t help but laugh when he crosses his arms in front of his chest. He’s just so fucking cute and snobby and Richie is loving every moment of this.

“What? Eds?” Richie taunts, because he can, and his confidence is restoring with each little twitch Eddie gives in response to his teasing.

“Yes, idiot. You know I didn’t have to bandage you up, I could have let you bleed out which you probably would have because you covered it with a fucking _towel_ and even though it was “clean” you know how many germs can be flying around in a communal shower room of _boys_ good lord…” Eddie trails off and his voice is so fast and continues to rise in pitch as he goes on and Richie can barely stop himself from giggling at how _fucking cute he is._ Eddie seems to be quite the germaphobe. Good to know.

“Hey now, you can’t just let me bleed out, especially if you’ve got those magic fingers of yours, I’m pretty sure they could send you to jail for something like that. Inadvertent manslaughter they’d call it,” Richie says and Eddie snorts at him in disbelief.

“You’re insufferable,” Eddie says simply, and well, he’s not wrong, so Richie laughs.

After a moment of silence, Richie is reminded that he’s sitting on Eddies bed, and Eddie is still kneeling in front of him, looking up at him through his thick eyelashes and suddenly it’s almost too much to bare. Of all the times Richie has fantasized about this exact moment, he never suspected it would ever actually _happen_ let alone so accurately. All he wants to do is reach down and tug on Eddies shirt collar, bringing him up to meet his lips and just absolutely tear him apart. But he can’t, because Eddie might not feel the same way, he can’t take that chance.

“What does that mean?” Eddie asks quietly, his eyes darting to the wrapped arm when Richie cocks an eyebrow in question.

_Shit._

What the hell is he supposed to do in this situation? On a good day he’d be able to come up with a pretty convincing lie, but sitting here, sitting with him, he can barely think straight enough to not come in his pants.

“Bowers…he uh, thinks I have a thing for boys,” Richie says, unable to hold his gaze with Eddies. With a deep, shuddering inhale, he bites the bullet. “He thinks I have a thing for you.”

The air is sickeningly thick for what feels like a suffocatingly long time and Richie wants to apologize and thank Eddie for bandaging him up but he’s gotta fucking go, and he’s such a coward he can’t bring himself to even look Eddie in the eyes like he wants to, _longs_ to, but his legs are frozen again for the second time today and he feels so helpless he could just scream.

But then he’s being pushed back against the bed and his mind goes blank.

Eddie is on top of him, his arms on either side of Richies face, and he’s staring down into Richies eyes like some sort of wild animal and Richie can barely breath. Eddies eyes are dark, nearly black, and Richie wants to drown in their depths. Acting before he can change his mind, Richie reaches his good arm up and coils a hand into Eddies soft hair, pulling him down and connecting their lips in desperation. Eddie moans upon contact and Richie can feel the shiver course down his spine in response. The kiss is frantic, hungry, all teeth and tongue, gnashing together like they’re fighting for control of the other and Richie can barely take it so he pulls on Eddies hair, tight, causing the smaller boy to lift away with a deep groan that causes Richies hips to buck forward. Eddie looks so beautiful with his mouth slightly agape, his chin pointed upward as Richie pulls on his hair harder, his eyes clenched closed. Richie wants to look at him forever.

Eddie seems to have no intention of letting him take control that easily.

Grabbing onto the hand in his hair, Eddie pushes Richies arm down and secures it above his head, gripping hard on his wrist. Richie smiles a cocky grin and Eddie ducks down to kiss it off his lips, letting his tongue trace the other boys and letting out a raspy breath when Richie puts his other hand on his hips and pushes him down so they’re connected at the waist.

It’s almost too much that they’re in a room with an unlocked door, which is technically the home of seven other people, and anyone could walk in at any moment, but Richie doesn’t care, he’s too beyond rational thought to really give a shit about anything besides using the force he has on Eddies hip to grind him into his leg, both of them breaking away from the kiss in a moan. It’s almost too much that he realizes with budding clarity that this is actually happening, its not just a dream, he can feel Eddies tongue as it caresses his own, feel the weight of his hips as they push against his hard cock, and he thinks he can even feel Eddies own erection through the thin fabric of those fucking shorts. Within a moment it _is_ too much and Richie is ravenous, breaking free of Eddies hold on his arm and wrapping it around the other boy to flip their position clumsily. It’s awkward, and doesn’t work as well as he’s seen in movies, so they both giggle. Once Eddie is down on the bed, Richie pulls away to look at him, so soft, so close, his wet lips parted and panting, his eyes hooded with pleasure. And Richie thinks Eddie looks hungry too, like somehow he’s wanted this as much as Richie has, and the thought ignites an inferno in his belly as he thrusts against the smaller boys unclothed thighs, desperate, frantic. Eddies eyes roll back into his head slightly and Richie can barely stifle the groan that escapes from his throat as he stares into his beautiful, soft face.

“Richie,” Eddie moans and Richie shivers all over, his dick jumping in his pants, and he feels like he’s going to burst if he doesn’t get some relief soon. “Richie, I’ve never done this before.”

“It’s okay, baby, neither have I,” Richie says between stuttering gasps, he’s still thrusting into Eddies thigh like he needs to soak up as much of him as he can before this is over, before this fragile moment is broken. And to be honest, it didn’t really occur to Richie that they would get this far. Richie expected this to be a hand job session at most, two horny boys just doing what they needed to. But Eddie seems to have a different idea in mind and Richie can barely contain himself.

He leans down and bites, hard, into Eddies pale neck, causing the other boy to jolt and inhale sharply before easing into it. Richie sucks on the bite and can trace the edges of his teeth marks with his tongue, moaning against his neck and getting dizzy with pleasure as he feels Eddies hip lift back up to his own and grind directly on his cock, and yes, he can feel Eddie, he’s sure of it, that hard lump that feels so perfect against his own.

Richie continues to bite and kiss and _claim_ Eddies neck, thoroughly massacring his soft skin, but Eddie is shaking so violently underneath him he can only assume he likes it. With a rush of adrenaline, Richie reaches his bad arm down and under Eddies shirt, lifting it up so he can lay bites along his nipples, ushering a moan out of Eddie with each pass, even the bites that Richie worries are too hard. When he makes his way to his waist line he can barely stop himself from ripping those _fucking shorts_ off of his legs because he can see the outline of his dick through the thin fabric and wants nothing more than to swallow it whole. Looking up through his lashes he sees Eddie watching him, those dark eyes locked on Richies blue ones, and Richie swears he almost looks like he’s pleading to be touched, so Richie obliges, pulling down his shorts slowly, agonizingly slowly, and revealing Eddies hard cock.

Richie takes a moment to really just look at him, this is the first time he’s seen another boys dick hard and he finds himself needing to grip onto the edge of the bed to steady himself. Blood loss and arousal are a deadly duo. Eddies dick is already wet with precome, leaking down his head and onto his shaft, and Richie can see the dark spot of where it was laying in his shorts and can’t handle this beautiful boy looking so dirty, so he licks his tongue out and traces the precome line from base to head. Eddie moans the entire time, causing Richie to release a breathy laugh against his dick.

“You’re so beautiful,” Richie says before he can stop himself, and then he takes Eddie in his mouth, earning a hand in his hair from the other boy, and a sharp tug that sends his mind whirling. Eddies dick fits perfectly in his mouth, and Richie glides along it easily, like he’s done this a million times. He tickles the head with his tongue and Eddie shakes at the contact, his hands gripping into the mattress as well. And then Richie _sucks_ and swears he sees stars because the noises that are coming out of Eddie as just inhumanely good. “Shhh, baby, you’ve got to be quiet.”

“Can’t…” Eddie hisses, and Richie looks up at him to see his head pushed back against the bed, his back arched in a perfect bow.

And well, he can’t really be bothered to argue with him, so he continues exploring Eddies length, teasing him in the ways he likes to tease himself, and feeling confident with the noises escaping from Eddies mouth.

Lifting a hand, Richie reaches towards Eddies mouth, his pointer finger elongated, and brushes the pad against Eddies trembling lower lip before dipping it into his mouth and moaning against his dick when Eddie sucks his finger in, deep, and he can feel the back of his throat.

“Fucking christ, Eddie,” Richie whispers when his mouth is free because how the hell does this kid know how to use his mouth so well, and he pushes another finger in, causing Eddie to groan and gag a bit, but recover quickly and suck them both down, his tongue curling between each digit. And Richie is far too aware that he hasn’t even gotten his own dick out of his pants yet and if he doesn’t act soon he’s going to be coming so hard into his jeans that he’ll never get the stain out. Removing his fingers from Eddies mouth, (which earns him a grumpy look from the other boy that he can’t help but giggle at, _goddamnit how did he get to be so cute?_ ), he starts to undo his jeans, letting his dick flop out, and shimmying them down to his ankles.

Eddie uses his leverage on Richies hair to bring him up to his face, his dark eyes brimmed with moisture.

“What’s the matter, Eddie? Are you okay?” Richie asks softly, suddenly concerned that he took things too far.

“Richie, I’ve never done this before,” Eddie squeaks again and Richie sighs.

“It’s okay, you’ll be okay, I promise,” Richie says and kisses Eddies neck where dark purple bruises have started to bloom.

“What if it hurts?” Eddie asks softly, a small tear drop escaping down his cheek. Richie sees it and darts his tongue out, licking the salty tear away. “That was gross.”

Richie just laughs because he can’t believe how funny Eddie is without even trying to be, and he never expected him to be such a little germ freak and it is just adorable in a way he never expected.

“Sorry,” he mumbles through giggles and Eddie rolls his eyes. “We don’t have to do this,” he says even though he really doesn’t want this to be over.

Eddie contemplates this for a moment, biting his bottom lip and Richie needs him to make a decision right fucking now because his dick is still rock hard and hasn’t had any skin to skin contact yet and it’s driving him mad. Eddie nods quickly, and that’s enough of a go-ahead for Richie to duck down for another kiss, more delicate than the ones before, more reassuring.

“Do you know what you’re doing?” Eddie mumbles between kisses and Richie smiles.

“I’m sure I can figure it out,” Richie whispers back and Eddie grumbles to himself.

Richie retraces his steps down Eddies front, trying to relax the other boy with softer kisses and tender grabs, and it seems to be relieving some of his tension, so he hooks a hand around his dick, which has started to lose some of its girth, and pumps it back to full hardness, Eddie becoming jelly in his hands once again.

Richie knows enough about gay sex to know he has to prepare Eddie properly or he could really hurt him, but of course he doesn’t have any lube. Looking up from Eddies crotch, he scans the room for anything that could work, landing on the bedside table containing Eddies medical supplies.

“You got any lube in there?” Richie asks and looks up at Eddie with a raised eyebrow. Eddie shrugs his shoulders, so Richie lifts himself off of the other boy slightly to rummage around, looking for anything that doesn’t look too dangerous. He eventually lands on a tub of vaseline and eyes the texture before deciding it will do.

Unscrewing the lid, he brings himself back to hover over Eddies body, and he hears the other boy gulp. Richie scoops his fingers into the cool substance and looks Eddie in the eyes, his big pupils erasing so much of the gorgeous brown that Richie has been dying for. He lowers his bad arm down between Eddies legs, cursing Bowers for ripping him up like this on today of all days, and gently grazes his fingers against Eddies hole.

The other boy shivers, and jumps slightly, seeming almost scared of the touch, but Richie holds his hips with his other hand and rubs soothing circles in his flesh to try to calm him down. Eddies body is so hot to the touch, and slick with sweat and Richie barely needs to put effort into sliding the tip of his finger into his body. Eddie moans quietly and reaches a hand down to grip on Richies shoulder tightly, which he takes as a good sign. He eases in his finger a bit more, feeling how Eddies insides morph around his touch, how his dick jumps at the sensation, and it’s so fucking incredible to see Eddie spread out for him this way. He continues to move his finger inside until it’s flush with the palm of his hand, and then angles it slightly, causing Eddie to moan far too loudly and Richie to curse under his breath.

“Eddie, baby…” Richie starts, but then Eddie’s grabbing his hand and pushing it deeper into his body and he forgets what he was going to say. Carefully, Richie nudges another finger inside and brings them together, making Eddie absolutely writhe below him.

And Richie wants to stare at this sight forever. His fingers buried in Eddies ass, his shorts pulled down to his knees, his thighs trembling and covered in goose bumps, his dick, hard and seeping against his flat stomach, his hand reaching onto his own shoulder, and his mouth hanging agape with heavy breathes coming out of it. But then he remembers that Eddie seems to be in a fucking mood and needs him inside of him _right now_ and Richie can’t argue that he feels the same way.

With a bit of restraint from inside of Eddies body, Richie pulls his fingers out slowly, causing the boy to mumble something in annoyance. Richie grabs the vaseline jar again and takes out another scoop, this time rubbing it against his own dick and shaking violently at the first contact it’s had, precome drooling from the tip instantly. When he feels he’s nice and slippery, he lines up with Eddie, lifting those thighs up to his chest and bending him in half against his chest.

“Are you ready?” Richie leans down and kisses Eddies soft cheek, and he nods, seeming so eager now. Without another word, Richie positions his cock with Eddies hole and pushes in smoothly. Eddie moans instantly, pulling Richie in deeper than he expected so quickly, and burying his face in his hands. Richie kind of loves that he can tell Eddie’s crying a bit still, wonders if he’s getting off on the idea of him being fucked too hard for the first time. “Why baby, why are you crying?”

But Eddie doesn’t speak, he just runs his hands up through his short, brown hair and lets Richie nestle in deeper inside him, until they’re fitting together perfect like two pieces of a puzzle. Richie is so focused on watching Eddie react he doesn’t even really acknowledge how unreal this feels, how fucking good every inch of his being feels. He feels so alive.

When he starts to thrust, Eddie goes wild, moaning and mewling and cursing below him, eagerly taking everything Richie has to give and Richie can’t fucking stand it, he’s so fucking hot, he needs to bury his face in the bed beside Eddies head to avoid coming within the first thirty seconds. Eddie matches Richies momentum, thrusting his hips up to meet Richie every time he buries himself inside and gripping nails into his back that will surely leave marks. There’s a spot inside of Eddie that Richie hits every once and while, that causes him to go absolutely feral, writhing and twisting and pushing into the contact like he’s going to die without it and Richie tries to keep up with him and hit the spot every time, but it’s so damn slippery he has a hard time actually keeping control of his dick as it moves inside. Eddie is so tight on Richies dick and so wet that he knows he’s going to come soon, too soon, he never wants this to end, but the sounds Eddie’s making beneath him and the way his hips are grinding down onto his dick and how _soft_ he feels under his body is just too much and he’s coming the hardest he thinks he ever has in his life into Eddies body, letting out a long moan as the pleasure courses through him.

Eddie doesn’t last much longer than that, and seems to get squeamish with the feeling of hot come inside him, and with a few pumps on his own dick he’s coming with loud moans that Richie’s sure everyone in the orphanage can hear, but doesn’t really care because it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever heard. Richie lifts up on his elbows and watches as Eddies dick shoots out so much fucking come and twitches on his belly, feeling his heart rate pulsing outside of his body. With a saddening sigh, Richie slowly removes himself from Eddies body, watching the stream of come flow out after him and grinning.

“Fuck,” Eddie moans and Richie just laughs because he’s right. _Fuck._

After the body high settles, Richie feels the pain radiating in his arm and guesses he must have broken one of the healing scabs under the gauze with all the movement. He asks Eddie about it and he tells him it should be fine, but if he starts to see blood at all that they should re-bandage it.

Richie doesn’t know if Eddie wants him to stay, but he doesn’t think he’s capable of leaving yet, so he cleans himself off with some tissues on Eddies table and pulls his pants back up before curling into bed with him. Eddie cleans himself off as well, and pulls his shorts back up, getting under the covers of his bed carefully.

“Does it hurt?” Richie asks, but Eddie just shrugs. He’s braver than he expected. “Was it good?”

At that Eddie turns to him and smiles, his eyes sparkling, and Richie can see flecks of dark green now that his pupils have reduced their size. Richie takes a chance and leans in to kiss him again, thankful that Eddie moves in to meet him, their lips brushing together. If anyone would have told Richie this is how this day was going to go, he would have laughed in their face. Now, he almost feels like crying because of how happy he is. They lay, curled in each others arms for what feels like hours, but when Eddie checks his calculator watch, it’s four o’clock, and they have an unspoken understanding that they were lucky enough to not get caught in the hours between lunch and dinner, they should probably take their winnings.

They’re quiet as Richie gathers himself, making sure there are no clues as to what they had done left on his body, and apologizes to Eddie for leaving his neck like a battleground. Eddie shrugs it off, saying no one pays enough attention to him anyway to notice, but Richie disagrees. He knows for a fact someone is always paying attention to him. They stand together as Richie is about to leave, holding each other gently in each others arms.

“Thank you, for bandaging me up,” Richie says when they break apart. “And thanks for letting me suck your dick.”

Eddie laughs in response, such a carefree, easy laugh that Richie smiles and laughs too and they just stand there for a few more moments, laughing together in harmony. When Richie finally pulls himself away, and makes his way out of the room, he’s reminded of the fact that he has something to remember this by, etched onto him for the rest of his life.

Guess he can thank Bowers for something after all.

—

It’s two months later when Eddie goes to his new home.

The pain Richie feels when he tells him is something he’ll never forget.

“They’re a nice family, Rich, they have a dog,” Eddie explained, but Richie couldn’t bare to listen. They had continued to sneak around and touch each other almost everyday since the first, and Richie never thought that it would end, never wanted it to. It never occurred to him that Eddie wasn’t destined to the same fate that he was. When Eddie told him his interview had gone well, he hadn’t been surprised, how could he be? He would adopt Eddie in a heartbeat if he had the chance. He didn’t acknowledge what can happen after a good interview, and how quickly it can change everything.

The day that Eddie leaves, Richie can hardly get himself out of bed, even though he knows it’s his last time to see him and he wants to soak up as much of it as possible. When he finally does, and makes his way to Eddies room, the sight of him sitting on his bed with his suitcases filled with so many fucking prescriptions he can’t even believe it, he can’t handle it and rushes out of the room in tears.

Eddie doesn’t follow.

Richie hides in the bathroom for most of the day because he’s a coward and he can’t face this pain. When Eddie finds him later, knocking on the bathroom stall gently, he can tell that the other boy has been crying, too.

“Richie,” he starts, a hiccup in his throat. “They’re here. I’m leaving soon…”

“Sounds good,” Richie says because he can’t do this. He can’t admit to Eddie right now that he might die if he leaves, because he can’t hold that over him, he deserves a home, he deserves a life. Eddie doesn’t need him nearly as much as Richie does, or he doesn’t think so anyway. Richie hears a soft thud on the other side of the stall door and wonders if Eddie punched the door, but then it’s gone, and the shadow of his footprints under the door are gone.

And _he’s_ gone.

Richie cries for a while longer, his head in his hands as he thinks about his memories of Eddie, trying to desperately keep the detail in his minds eye for as long as possible. He hates to think that one day he won’t be able to remember the color of his eyes, the way his pupils would grow when they landed on him, the emerald tones that lived inside, so small that it felt like they belonged to Richie alone. One day he won’t remember his pouty lips after a bad joke, or the smiles he’d get when he tickled him, or the way they would quiver as his body shook with pleasure. One day he won’t remember his legs, how long and slender they were, how smooth, how soft…

Before he can tell himself not to, he’s pushing through the stall door, clanging it against the hinges and bolting down the hall to the entrance of the orphanage. He’s suddenly desperate to not miss his last chance.

Bursting through the front door he sees Eddie, standing next to a shabby little two door, an older man putting his suitcases into the trunk. Eddie doesn’t see him, and Richie doesn’t mind, it almost feels like it used to, Richie watching, Eddie just being. When his suitcases are all packed, a pretty woman puts her hand on Eddies shoulder and leads him to the backseat, closing the door behind him with a smile. The man and woman get into the front seats, and Eddie turns his head to look back at the orphanage one last time. When his eyes land on Richie, he knows he starts crying, and Richie can barely hold himself in place.

Softly, Eddie raises his hand in the window and waves, and Richie smiles for the first time in what feels like so long. Eddie smiles back, and as the car starts and travels forward, Richie watches the taillights until they disappear, his fingers absentmindedly tracing the scars left on his arm.


End file.
